


Confessions Over Warm Laundry

by plentyofmalk



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy Era, Canon Divergent, F/M, Slightly drunk Fitz, Sober Jemma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 02:38:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6782026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plentyofmalk/pseuds/plentyofmalk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma plans to enjoy a nice winter evening catching up on laundry after finals. She does not expect Fitz to show up at her door, or the awkward encounter that ensues when your drunk best friend makes himself at home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confessions Over Warm Laundry

The hallway of the third floor was uncharacteristically quiet when Simmons exited the elevator. Not that she minded, of course, since she was currently hauling an embarrassing amount of freshly-laundered clothes back up from the dorms communal laundry room, and didn’t care for anyone to question when the last time she washed her clothes actually was. Just because she prioritized studying before finals, and also happened to have a vast collection of tops to last her for the past few weeks, did not mean she should be judged negatively for it.

Shifting the basket from one hand to the other, she pulled her keys out of her pocket when she got to her door, and was met with a metal handle that felt like ice. The dorm itself was colder than the hallway, thanks to the window at the other side of the room. _An entire academy of geniuses, and they can’t figure out basic insulation_ , she thought with a grimace, all the more appreciative of the warmth radiating from the basket she balanced on her hip. Once inside, she dropped it in a huff, and watched as various items of clothing spilled out and across the bedspread.

She’d spent most of her evening alone, which was not usually the case for her. Most hours outside of class lately had been spent in the Academy’s labs with Fitz, working well past normal hours on various projects. At some point, his stomach would inevitably dictate the end of a work session, but they would still spend the rest of the night together going out for a bite to eat or indulging in takeout in their rooms. It was effortless and comfortable, but every once in a while she found herself comparing him to other boys at the Academy she had been interested in in the past. Which didn’t make any sense, logically, because he was her friend.. who just happened to be smarter and more interesting than any of the guys she’d dated.

He was also much, much pastier (she had to balance the scales in her head somehow).

She shook the thought away and refocused on the task ahead of her, soaking up the heat from the heap in front of her through her fingertips. As much as she had wanted to go out and enjoy an evening at the boiler room with some of her fellow cadets to celebrate the end of exams, she was afraid her hamper had reached its limit, and she was _not_ going to devolve into the type of uncivilized person that left dirty laundry lying about.

She had just finished placing her favorite blouse -- navy, with a large loose bow that hung from the v-shaped neckline -- back into her wardrobe when she heard a familiar rapping on her door. She couldn’t remember when exactly she had become so familiar with Fitz’s knocking pattern, but she appreciated that she could always tell when it was him when she was otherwise occupied and didn’t want to be disturbed by anyone else.

Sure enough, when she opened the door, she was greeted by a Fitz with very pink cheeks, bundled up in a jacket that was much too thin for the chilling cold he would have endured walking over. The grin on his face, even as he shoved his way inside, told her that not all of the flush on his face was weather-induced, and most likely was due to the libations he’d surely partaken in at the boiler room earlier.

“Christ, it’s freezing in here, Simmons!” Blowing into his cupped hands, he rubbed his palms over his ears to warm them up. “You need a space heater.”

“They’re not allowed, Fitz. As much as I would love to have one right about now.” She locked the door and quickly maneuvered around him back to the bed, while Fitz seated himself at her desk. “This might come as a surprise to you, but some of us actually _like_ following the rules.”

“Pfft.” He responded, as he usually did whenever she took an opportunity to scold him. She let out a small laugh when he used his foot to propel him in circles, one arm hanging over the back of her chair.

Picking up a sweater and beginning to fold, she looked at the clock behind his spinning frame -- _he’d better not get sick all over my floor_ \-- and saw the time. _9:17_. “It’s still early. Weren’t you having a good time?”

“Huh?” He used his feet to drag to a stop, looking at her oddly. “Oh, yeah, it was great. No Neck Brian made an idiot out of himself trying to hit on Abigail and ended up getting a drink poured over his head. It was great.” She stiffened at the mention of the pretty brunette from their materials lab, when he seemed to say her name with such admiration. “I just… you know.”

“Know what?”

“Just didn’t seem proper to celebrate a finished project without my partner.”

She graced him with a smile that was part-grateful, part-knowing. “Well, that’s sweet.” She ignored his quick _I know_ and continued, “But it’s pretty obvious you’ve been doing a fair amount of celebrating tonight.”

“No no no, no celebrating, those beers were about survival! Drinking alcohol makes you warmer.” He said defensively.

“Well now you’re blatantly ignoring scientific fact--”

“It’s a, a uh…” His brows scrunched together, and he snapped his fingers in agitation. Seeing him flounder was rare, so she was content to enjoy every second of it. “Dammit Simmons, help me out here. A vasco--”

“ _Vaso_ dialator, yes, but you’re forgetting that as a result it’s actually _lowering_ your core body temperature.”

“But--”

“Not to mention the fact that it reduces the instinct your body has to shiver for warmth. Honestly, it’s like talking with an Operations cadet!” The insult had the intended effect, bringing the escalating conversation to a halt. He pressed a hand over his heart with a slight pout that she definitely did not think was endearing or cute. At all.

“Well, I guess all I know is that you’re cold and sober and I’m cold slightly less sober.”

“Slightly?” She said, an amused grin on her face. “Say 'vasodialator' again, will you?”

“Ugh,” He tilted his head back in exasperation. “You’re not going to let that one go any time soon, are you?”

“Oh, Fitz, don’t worry.” She grabbed his arm in mock comfort, giving it a shake and a squeeze for good measure. “I’m sure before the night is over you will have said something much more embarrassing that I can hold over your head.”

“Yeah, well,” He waved her off, “Sorry to take you away from your exciting evening of freezing to death alone in your room. I just thought tha-- wait, are those fresh out of the dryer?” He gestured to the pile on her bed, his questioning eyes glazing over.

“As it just so happens, yes, and I’d like to get back to folding them if you don’t mind. Wait, why do you.. No!!”

Before she could stop him, Fitz launched himself from his seat and collapsed face down into the heap. He let out an exaggerated moan and stuck both arms under, hugging the warmth to him. Very clearly pleased himself, he muffled to her, “Now _this_ is much better than a space heater, Simmons.”

“Fiiitz,” She whined. “C’mon on, everything’s going to get wrinkled if you lay on it like that.”

She grabbed at his elbow, uselessly trying to untuck it in order to pull him off. Instead, she only succeeded in getting him to turn over, shifting and overturning items as he went. With his eyes closed and a content smile on his face, she felt a small pang of guilt for making him move. But she hated wrinkled clothes too much to let him win.

“Shh, it’s going to be gone soon, we should be soaking it up while it lasts.” He patted the spot on the pile next to him. “See for yourself.”

As he said that, she did see something. A certain scrap of lavender something, that accidentally didn’t get separated out correctly and ended up in this load, in this pile, precariously close to Fitz’s cheek, currently being touched by his welcoming hand.

Her bra.

At the same time she processed it, Fitz finally opened his eyes and saw it himself. He shrieked, eyes widening in horror as he hauled himself off the bed faster than she’d probably ever seen him move. He backed all the way into the corner of the room, equidistant from her and the (apparently offending) item.

It shouldn’t have bothered her to see him move the way he did. As a friend, he would surely have no interest in the matter. But the way he viscerally reacted made her upset in a way she preferred not to analyze. She crossed her arms in front of her defensively, shaking her head to clear her thoughts and pay no mind to the unease building in her stomach.

“I’m so sorry, Simmons!”

“It’s okay,” She tried to say, but he steamrolled over her.

“I swear I don’t-- I didn’t know-- I would _dream_ \--” He sputtered on.

“Fitz, it’s fiiiine…”

“You’re a friend, and I would never touch your--”

“Don’t…”

“ _Unmentionables_!” He spat out the word with so much distaste that it drove her past the point of trying to make him feel better and right into heated annoyance.

“Oh for God’s sake, it’s a bra, Fitz! Girls wear them!” She plucked it off the bed as she said it and slammed it into the top drawer of her dresser. “Not that you’ve noticed, but I _am a girl_.” She turned to face him again, gesturing up and down at her frame. On a role, she missed the way Fitz’s eyes followed her movements, and the extra second he lingered on her chest before meeting her eyes again.

“C’mon, I know you’re a girl, Simmons.” He talked to her like he was trying to subdue a wild animal. It only served to infuriate her more.

“Really? Could have fooled me, that way you reacted.” She shot back. “You’d think it pained you to imagine I might be like Samantha or Gillian or _Abigail_.”

“What? You’re not like any of them.”

He said it so matter of fact, and hurt that she couldn’t contain bubbled to the surface. Before she knew it she heard the words leaving her mouth.

“Yes, I’m very well aware you feel that way, Fitz. But the least you could do is pretend to not be completely repulsed by the concept that I wear bras.”

“If that’s what you think, then you really aren’t aware of how I feel at all.” The words came out so quietly that she was halfway through another sentence about biology or respect or _something_ before she processed his admission.

She uncrossed her arms from in front of her, choosing instead to wipe them nervously on her hips. “Wait, what?”

He took a cautious step towards her. “You’re not like any of them. You’re not on the same planet as them. Hell, sometimes it feels like you’re not even on the same planet as me.”

“Fitz…”

Another step. “I didn’t jump away because I can’t fathom the thought of it, Jemma.” And another. “I jumped away because I very vividly _can_.”

He was right in front of her now, staring down into her eyes. His own pupils were blown wide, ringed with blue and made up of equal parts calm and fear.

She felt herself being filled with a hesitant optimism. How did she not realize until now that all the lingering thoughts and irrational emotions she had been experiencing lately were all dependant on the question she was about to ask.

“Are you saying that you…?”

“Yeah. Which is why I--” He breathed. Then he pulled back. “Wait, are you?”

“I think so.” Thinking better of it, she dismissed the words with a wave of her hand. If he could admit it, then so could she. “Yes.”

"How long?" He asked.

"I don't know, to be honest. I think I wasn't letting myself concentrate on it too much until now."

There was a stretch of silence, both of them clearly needing a moment to come to terms with everything they just said (and everything it really meant). Somehow her mundane evening had evolved into something very, very different. She hoped he felt as okay with the turn of events as she did.

“Wow.” His grin was beaming, so pleased that she couldn’t help but reciprocate the gesture. “So that’s settled then." She nodded. "Does that mean I can..” He made a motion to her lips to ask for permission.

She should probably say something, she realized. “Oh! Yes, you _may_.” (Because she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to correct his choice of words.) He glared for just a moment before bringing a hand to cup her jaw. She tilted her chin in response, just centimeters away before--

“Wait, stop!”

He backed away like he had been burned. “Oh God, I’m sorry!”

She quickly realized he had gotten the wrong impression, and tried to explain. “No! Please, it’s not that. It’s just that, well, you’re drunk.”

He gave her a look that was thoroughly unamused. “I’m not that drunk, Simmons.”

“Still.”

“Do you think I’m going to regret it?”

“I think the only reason you said anything is because you’ve got a little liquid courage tonight.” She cut him off before he could protest, coming up to rest both hands on his shoulders to in comfort. “Come by in the morning and tell me you don’t regret it, okay?”

He sighed, relieved that she wasn’t suggesting they write the evening off as a misunderstanding like he’d feared. “Okay. Yeah, I’ll be here in the morning, then.”

She nodded, and couldn’t help but feel a twinge of temptation to forget what she said and close the gap between their lips. She settled instead on reaching up on her toes just enough to plant an innocent kiss on his cheek.

He stepped back after she took her hands away, sticking his own in his jacket pockets and heading for the door. He was on his way out when she spoke again.

“Fitz?”

“Yeah?”

She smiled, teasingly. “Was that the first bra you’ve gotten your hands on at the Academy?”

He closed his eyes and threw his head back with a frustrated _ugh_. “Goodnight, Simmons.”

“Goodnight, Fitz.”

Alone again, she turned to the laundry, still on her bed. In a similar manner as Fitz earlier, she allowed herself a few moments to throw herself onto it, hiding her grin into the now-cooled fabrics, before righting herself again and going back to the night’s original task.

_________________________

She couldn’t help but feel nervous when she heard the familiar _tap tap tap_ on her door at 8:30 the next morning. Adjusting the bow on the front of her shirt (the only one she managed to hang, wrinkle-free, before Fitz had come over), she went to let him in. It was surprising enough that he was even up at this hour, let alone after a night out. And yet there he stood, with an anxious smile, balancing a drink caddy and a paper bag in his hands.

He declined her help and made a beeline for her desk, setting the offerings down and turning back to her. “I thought I should buy a girl a meal first, so I got some mini scones for you. The orange cranberry ones you like.”

“Thank you. How are you feeling? You’re not usually functioning this early.”

“I told you I wasn’t that drunk, Simmons.”

“Right, you did mention that.” She hesitated for a moment before taking a leap. “So does that mean you remember anything else?”

This time, when he walked over to her and placed a hand under her chin, she didn’t stop him. And she didn’t stop herself from bringing her own to the back of his neck. And she _definitely_ didn’t stop him when he brought his head down to meet her lips with his own.

The kiss was tentative at first, both of them taking time to assure themselves that the other was not going to pull away. Once she puffed out a sigh over his bottom lip, he moved to hug her around the waist and pull her in closer. They stayed like that for several moments, taking in what air they could in between light nips before he finally had to break away.

When he looked down at her, she could see the determination written across his features.

“I don’t regret it.”

She couldn’t help the full-toothed grin on her face if she tried, especially when she saw it mirrored back at her. She allowed herself one more (quick, playful, promising) kiss before she let go.

They had breakfast spread out on her comforter. She only had to scold him twice for spilling crumbs from his chocolate croissant when he would lean over to press his lips to her temple or attempt to steal a bite of her scones. She had a hard time feeling too upset about it.

_________________________

Two more breakfasts and three dinners later, Fitz had another encounter with the lavender catalyst of their relationship from that fateful night. This time, she was pleased to say, he reacted very, very differently.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my need for visual inspiration I am now inspired to buy the [top](http://www.modcloth.com/shop/blouses/careerist-and-dearest-top-in-ultramarine) Jemma is wearing the morning after.
> 
> I'm plentyofmalk on tumblr, so come by and say hello!


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